Stuck

My dog is special. Since the day we brought him home, Wallace has marched to the beat of his own drum. You might not notice it if you visit him inside our house, though. That's his happy place; he can relax there and be normal. Mostly. Outside is a different story. Wallace gets overstimulated when... Continue Reading →

The time I got it wrong

I hate to be wrong. As much as I love to be right (who doesn't?), I hate to be wrong even more. I have lots of reasons for this, but since they revolve around my self-psychoanalysis, I'll spare you the details. Just know that I viscerally hate to be wrong. Imagine, then, the internal turmoil... Continue Reading →

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